


In Practice, Perfection

by Alconis



Series: A Convocation of Warlocks [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Gen Fic, Squad: Asher is a babe and you can't tell us otherwise, Vesper Tan Does Not Understand the Void, Warlocks being ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 15:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alconis/pseuds/Alconis
Summary: Not all warlocks understand the void. Some understand it better than others.





	In Practice, Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yansurnummu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yansurnummu/gifts).



The Tower was quiet. Time was slow, and the world felt safe.

Outside, the sounds and dirt of busy streets below carried up to the terrace of a small Tower apartment, and mingled with the delicate sound of windchimes. Inside, late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, lighting the motes of dust that hung in the air.

Every few moments, the dust would swirl, disturbed by small pockets of the void popping and exploding in the room.

Amongst the clutter of the apartments, a collection of wine bottles and a half-empty pitcher of sangria sat on the windowsill, resting next to a pair of empty glasses. One had a dark lip print on the rim.

On a small table against the window, two Ghosts sat side by side to watch over their guardians, as two Warlocks practiced with the void.

From the half-silence, there was the whisper of air rushing out of a vacuum and a loud pop.

The two guardians winced in tandem.

“No, darling, not like that.” Kara Mahsa sat forward in the chaise he’d arranged himself in, long limbs twisted underneath him. “How are you so artless at this?”

“I have _no_ idea.” Vesper Tan sat on the floor of her apartment, desperately trying to create a vortex and failing miserably. She shook out her hand and closed her eyes, and stretched her fingers out. They extended straight, her wrist bent back, and she held her palm tense and hard, as if to hold fast against a storm.

“No. Move your fingers like this.” Kara stretched out his own hand, slender fingers soft and relaxed. There was a soft, low bass hum that rattled the furniture, and the air started to chill. “See how it lets you pull the energy through?”  

“Kara, I can’t do that with my fingers...”

There was a susurrus as fabric shifted and a tinkle of jewelry as Kara leaned over in the silence.

“Hush,” he said in return, taking Vesper’s fingers in his own. “Yes, you can.”

He ran the pads of his fingers along hers, massaging them and shaping them. “Let them be soft, but let them have energy too. You must stop being so tense.”

When he let go, her middle finger and thumb were twisted into an “o”, palm up, and her arm stayed extended out.

“Now try.”

There was a strong hum, and a ball of swirling void energy exploded into Vesper’s palm. It burned cold, and she shivered violently in shock. The sudden movement made the vortex in her hand unstable, and it exploded into vapor with a sharp pop.

With a frustrated groan, she fell backward, hitting her head against the rug a few times. “Kara, I can’t.” She drew out the word to two or three syllables in a whine as she let her limbs fall loose on the floor.

Kara stood, long limbs unfolding from the chair, refilled the glasses on the windowsill, and handed one to Vesper, who had sat up and was watching him with starry eyes.

“Vesper, you just have to relax,” he said, smiling wickedly, sitting back down. “You keep saying you can’t, but we’ve only just started the lesson.” He gestured for Vesper to come closer. “Darling, drink up;  the night has just begun.”

The mischief in Kara’s eyes made Vesper laugh, the sound ricocheting off the walls, and she bit her lip and gave him her own roguish look in return. He only tilted his head as if to suggest that she drink. She brought the glass to her nose, inhaling the heady scent of the wine, before tipping the glass against her lips.

“Alright… Tell me,” she asked in a low voice, “the void, where do you _feel_ it?”

Kara arched an eyebrow at her, sipping at his own glass. “The better question is, where do _you_?”

“Nowhere. And everywhere. In the small of my back and in the hollow of my chest.” Vesper moved over to sit on the floor in front of Kara, and he began to card his fingers through her hair, separating it into sections and starting to plait it into an intricate twist.

They were quiet as he made quick work of the braid, and Vesper leaned into the touch like a cat. Her eyes closed, and she could feel his fingernails scraping gently against her scalp as he pulled each section into its final place. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, a whisper that was blunted by the soft fabrics around them.

“And what does it _feel_ like for you, darling?” He secured each section with a silver clip, then took a sip of wine as Vesper contemplated her answer. Her mouth scrunched up in a pout, and she ran a hand over the twisting pattern, a warm feeling in her limbs starting to rise.

She tipped back her glass, emptying her own wine in a large swallow, and she made a sour face as the bitter taste burned on her tongue. Kara tutted at her, and took the glass from her with his slender fingers, and filled it again from the pitcher.

“Ulterior motives aside, darling, you shouldn’t go too far beyond the threshold of intelligent discourse.” His eyes flicked up to the windowsill where Kilo sat, somehow emitting the impression of strong disapproval without moving a plate. Haya just looked amused, and had started silently laughing at Vesper’s high-strung ghost. “I can’t have you falling asleep on me. I told Ikora I’d bring you back to her in one piece.”

“It feels cold,” she finally answered. “And hot, like menthol and camphor.” She leaned back against his knee, resting her head on his thigh and stretching her neck back to look up at him. “Like the ache of a sore muscle a day after you’ve strained it too far.”

“How does it feel different,” he asked, trying to lead her closer to that moment of insight, “from the storm?”

The air suddenly felt charged with static, and Kara looked down at her sharply as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.  His eyes grew wide and suspicious as the smell of ozone filled his nose.

Vesper laughed at Kara’s shocked face, and it was the sound of the first crack of thunder after the lightning. She tossed the arc charge that easily welled in her palm against the wall, where it pulsed and crackled for a moment. “This is free. The void requires payment.”

She flicked her fingers, making small sparks between them. She felt warm and unbound, the wine finally ticking her over to a happy, drunken haze. Kara smiled again, a little more wickedly this time, and with more teeth. “And, tell me, what do you give to the void?”

“Soul. Animus. Life,” she answered, words slow and rote from nights of lessons with Ikora. “The shadows, so it is only light that is received.”

Kara put his hand on her shoulder and pressed his thumb hard against her shoulder blade, making Vesper sit tall, and she gasped in surprise. “Now. Put your hand out and see what you find.”

Long fingers guided her left arm forward, and she pressed her hand up, fingers languid and soft, and she took a breath.

On the exhale, a perfect, swirling vortex of violet grew from her palm. Kara hummed, and then let go. “That’s it, darling. Just like that.”

The vortex pressed against the air and shook the walls, and indigo flames licked at their skin and clouded their vision. They both hissed at the same moment as the burning became too much, and Vesper held it a moment longer before letting it dissapate into the air.

Unnoticed by the pair of warlocks, Kilo floated off the window in a huff, and he flew out onto the terrace before someone got hurt. Haya followed, but only because there was no compelling reason to stay.

Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, bathing the world in a gradient of twilight, lilac slipping to deepest indigo. The two Ghosts found a quiet place, and sat together, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter and the rattle of furniture from inside. The lesson had only just begun. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a giant, self-indulgent Thank You note to Yansurnummu, who didn't even realize how much I adored his work and then all of a sudden he was reblogging mine. Kara is his creation, and thank you for letting me take him out and play, he's amazing and I love him.


End file.
